P&F Industries 5point5: Isabella's Gremlin of a Day and other stories
by EDD17SP
Summary: This day could not have been worse, and now that it's over, Isabella needs to vent about it in her Journal. Also, Buford to the Rescue/Pushing the Envelope/Bullies, Eat my Dust!/Why Valentine's Day Sucks
1. Isabella's Gremlin of a Day

**Disclaimer: I do not own Phineas and Ferb or any of the songs used. Do not attempt any of the driving described here at home. There is no guarantee it will work the way I wrote it and you'll probably get arrested.**

**This story is part of the "P&F Industries" series. The previous stories are: #1: The Mustang," "#2: El Camino de calle traviesa," "#3: Night on the Riviera," "#4: Baljeet and the Superchicken," and "#5: Deep Sea Fishing For Barracuda." They all must be read, in order, to understand the events leading up to these short stories.**

**A/N: As an added bonus for anyone interested in cars, and as added fun for me, I included the specifications for each of the character's cars to the beginning of each story. Also, I decided to post each story individually as I write them instead of all at once like I usually do. Enjoy!**

Isabella's Gremlin of a Day

Isabella Garcia-Shapiro  
1970 Plymouth Barracuda hardtop replica:  
440ci V8 engine-375 horsepower+130hp w/supercharger  
Wheelbase: 108in.  
Weight: 3,135lbs.  
Width: 74.9in.  
Transmission: Custom four-speed racing transmission with Hurst pistol-grip shifter  
Color: metallic black with dark magenta racing stripes and detailing; chrome trim  
Notes: Built from modified 1970 Dodge Challenger frame by Steve Marcis and Buford Van-Stomm of Boyd's Garage. Engine custom built by "Smokey" Erikson of Danville HotRodderz inc. Transmission by Tri-State Auto and Chopper.

It was 9:30pm when Isabella finally entered her bedroom and closed the door behind her. She leaned against the door a moment and sighed, relieved to be going to bed. She removed the teal extra-large t-shirt she slept in from under her pillow where she kept it and threw it over the back of her desk chair before she stripped down to her panties and unceremoniously piled her clothes on the floor. She finally pulled the big t-shirt over her head and climbed into bed, pulling the covers over her head roughly and welcoming sleep.

And, an hour and a half later, she was still awake.

_Well_, she thought, _after the day I've had, it does not surprise me that I can't fall asleep_.

Isabella flicked on the little lamp on her side table and pulled from the drawer a little journal and a pen. She didn't keep a journal religiously like some people do, nor did she always use it for writing. Most of the time, she just doodled in it. Today, however, she felt like writing. She turned over onto her stomach and clicked the pen, leaning on her elbows to write.

_February 10, 2015_

_Have you ever had one of those days were it seemed like the entire world was out to get you? Not even the people in the world, just the world in general. That's pretty much how my day today went._

_Really, I guess it started yesterday, when I watched the news before I went to bed and the weatherman predicted a 0% chance of precipitation. Also, I got a new alarm clock for Christmas, which I finally got around to unboxing and swapping out with my old alarm clock. The directions were all in Portuguese for some reason, which is weird because all the printing on the box is in English. Anyway, since I speak no Portuguese, I had a tough time figuring out how to program the alarm._

_As it turns out, I didn't do it right because my mom came and woke me up at ten of seven this morning, twenty minutes after my alarm __should__ have gone off. (Later, I realized I set it to go off at 6:30pm instead of am.) So now, I have to rush to get ready for school, and I'm still half asleep. Since I'm rushing, I never opened my blinds and looked outside to see what the weather was like. Why should I have? The weather report said 0% chance of precipitation for today._

_So I grabbed any old clothes out of my dresser: A white long sleeve t-shirt with the "Plymouth" logo printed across the front that Steve gave me the day he and Buford finished my car and a skirt that I've been meaning to get rid of for about a year now. It does not fit, not even close! It's almost inappropriately short and uncomfortably tight, but somehow, it keeps finding its way back into my dresser. (If explaining my clothing choices seems pointless, don't worry. It's important to the story later. Several times, actually.)_

_I went downstairs and scarfed down a granola bar, because at this point, that's all I had time for, and brushed my teeth. And somehow, the entire time, I didn't encounter my mom once. I'm sure if I had, she would have drawn my attention to weather, first, and to my skirt, secondly, and I would have changed, but of course, I somehow didn't see her at all between the time I got up and the time I left, so I grabbed my keys and jacket and left. (Wow. Long sentence. I need to think more about what I'm going to write before I write it.)_

_Rushed out the front door aaaaaand…it's sleeting. Not snow, not rain…__sleet!__ And I grabbed a hoodie instead of a rain coat, so now, my jacket is going to get wet and make me even colder. Great planning._

_Finally made it to my car. Thank the LORD. Steve and Buford finished building it for me exactly eleven days ago, and I love it! I could not have asked for a more beautifully crafted piece of automotive machinery (to quote Ferb). The Barracuda is quite a car. I'm glad I chose it over everything else, and those two did a phenomenal job. That brightened up my day a little. Until I started driving._

_There are a lot of traffic lights between my house and school, which means that you are constantly shifting up and down, like, every time you hit a red light. I drive with my left hand on the wheel and my right on the gear-shifter (which is another modification by my personal mechanics. The original 440 'Cuda came standard automatic, but they made mine manual incase I ever wanted to learn how to drive like Steve, which I don't). Anyway, about halfway to school, I sneezed really hard. So hard, that I shoved the shifter from first to third gear without using the clutch and still pushing on the gas. I heard a grinding sound and something that sounded like metal snapping, and then suddenly, the engine was still running, but I wasn't accelerating when I stepped on the gas._

_Crap._

_I pulled over to the side and called Steve, who was apparently still sleeping and was not too happy that I woke him up. He told me to try a different gear. As it turns out, the car would move in first and fourth gear, but not second or third. Steve said that I tore the gears out of it and he would have to order a new transmission. As long as I still had two gears I could make it to school, but not exactly safely. You can't really accelerate from high gear at low speed, so I could get up to twenty-five in first gear, and then shift to fourth and pretty much only get another four mph out of it before I had to slow down again._

_So, I drove to school and called Steve back. He said he would come pick up the car on his trailer after school and take it (and me) to his garage, and he would let me barrow his '63 Ford Galaxy until my car was fixed. Great._

_So, after running across the school parking lot, which got me completely soaked and so cold I though my legs were going to fall off, (thanks, weatherman, for making me dress for the wrong weather) I made it to first period, fifteen minutes late. And, oh boy! We've got a test today that I forgot to study for! Lucky me! Not only did I not have enough time to finish, but Mr. Lassiter said he would not give me any more time to finish just because "I was late because I supposedly had car trouble." I really hate that guy._

_The next three periods were uneventful. Then, came lunch._

_Me, Phineas and Irving were the only ones out of our group of friends who got the same lunch period. Ferb and Baljeet have lunch the period after us and Buford, Django, Adyson and Ginger (the only two of the former Fireside Girls who are in our school district, I have no idea how the others ended up in a different district) have the last lunch period._

_I left my hoodie in my locker because, being soaking wet, it was just making me colder, which means, I was just wearing my t-shirt. (Does it seem like I'm over explaining this?) Irving has a bottle of water in his lunch every day. After he uncaps it the first time, he never puts the cap back on in between drinking from it like every normal person does. Me and Phineas are always telling him, "Irving, put the cap back on your bottle. You're going to knock it over." He never listens._

_Lo and behold, today he knocked it over…right on to me. Specifically, onto my shirt. I'm wearing a white t-shirt. Thank GOD, this shirt has "Plymouth" printed across the front, because if the word wasn't there, everyone would have been able to see my bra, which, of course, was pink and not white, so it would have shown through easily._

_Fortunately, it was nearly dry by the end of the period because I was fiddling with it the whole time, trying to get the water out. The next class would be the worst part of the day._

_I sit right in the front row in English class, which made my "issue" during the period that much worse. I had my pencil case on my desk, open. I knocked it off and all of my various writing utensils scattered. Disgusted, I got up and knelt down to pick them all up. When I did, my skirt stretched beyond it's limits and it split all the way up to the waist band in the back. No body seemed to hear the tearing noise and no one paid any attention to me._

_Never have I been so glad to share a class with Buford. (He may be in all remedial level courses, but he excels when it comes to English literature.) And, thank GOD (again) he sits right next to me, so he heard me when I whispered "Buford! I need your help."_

_So he crouched down to help me pick up my pens and pencils, and I was able to whisper even more quietly, "I just tore my skirt. I need you to tell the teacher __discreetly __and help me get out of here before everyone sees my butt."_

_Would you believe, he actually did just that? Actually, I wasn't that surprised. He may be a bully, but when it comes to those he cares about, he is a true friend. He told Mrs. Kneecaper my predicament as quietly as he could, and she told me to leave the class and go to the nurse's office and told Buford to shield me with his body so no one would see my rear. (Wow. That was really lousy sentence structure.)_  
_The nurse was really no help to me, the teacher just sent me there so I wouldn't be seen. I don't keep extra clothes in my locker, or anything; I've never had a reason to._

_Once again, Buford came through for me. He had a pair of sweatpants in his car/truck (what title does an El Camino warrant?) and he let me borrow them. While I was quite grateful, the pants did not even come close to fitting me. They were about twice as large as my size, so Buford lent me his belt, too. Imagine me, wearing a slightly damp white t-shirt, a pair of gray sweat pants way to big for me and a belt on the last notch to make it fit me and hold up the pants. I must have looked like a hobo!_

_The rest of the school day was relatively uneventful. Until I had to leave._

_Steve showed up with his truck and trailer to take my Barracuda to his garage. They got Baljeet to sit in the driver's seat of my car and steer while Steve, Buford, Ferb, and me pushed the car up the ramp onto the trailer. (Oh! Totally forgot! Phineas wasn't even in school today. He caught a little stomach bug and stayed home sick. When I said earlier that everyday, I have lunch with Phineas and Irving, today, I only had lunch with Irving. That was kinda awkward, but it just sucked overall, that I didn't get to see Phineas today. I would have gone to see him after school, but I didn't get home until really late.)_

_Would it surprise you at all if I said Baljeet hit the ramp off center and halfway up, the car fell off? Cause, that's what happened. He missed the ramp and halfway up, the car slid off and hit the ground with the front passenger side fender. So now, while Buford and Steve are waiting for my new transmission to be built, they have to hand make new body panels for the right front of the car._

_Thanks a lot, Baljeet._

_Got to Steve's shop. Started doing my homework. Realized I forgot my pre-calculus book at school, so I couldn't do my math homework. Yawn. Tame in comparison with the rest of my day._

_So, Steve let me borrow his replica '63 Ford Galaxy until my 'Cuda is fixed. Awesome! The Galaxy is pretty cool. It is painted like a race car, after all. (#21) Only one problem that neither Steve nor Buford thought to mention: They built the car with no power steering and no power brakes. I had no idea what that meant until now. Apparently, there's a hydraulic system that makes it easier to steer installed in most cars. They didn't put this system in the Galaxy when they built it, which means to steer, you have to really crank hard on the wheel! It's not so bad once you get moving, but at low speeds, its practically impossible to turn the wheel! As for the brakes, the system is mechanical instead of vacuum assisted hydraulics. (Don't really know what that means, either) but, basically, how hard you push on the brake pedal is how hard the brake caliper squeezes the rotor. Whereas in a car with power brakes, you can slow down by barley pushing on the pedal, you have to push REALLY hard on the brake to make the car stop!_

_Like I said, no one told me this before I tried to drive it for the first time. I rolled down the driveway from the garage and tried to turn onto the street, and I didn't turn. I stepped on the brakes to stop and nothing happened. I stopped when I hit the curb on the opposite side of the street. __Then__ they explained it to me._

_It took so long to get home. I was afraid to give it much gas for fear that if someone cut me off or a light suddenly turned yellow, I wouldn't be able to stop._

_Mom made liver for dinner. I hate liver._

_Knocked my toothbrush into the toilet. Ugh. Didn't have another one in the house to use, so I couldn't brush my teeth tonight, and won't be able to tomorrow morning. I'll have to go get a new one after school tomorrow._

_And now, I'm writing this because I can't sleep. This day just won't stop torturing me!_

_I feel like I need a closing to this journal entry in the journal that I hardly ever write in, but I don't have one so I'm just going to stop writing now._

**I hope you've all enjoyed the first of the five one-shots that will comprise Episode #5.5. The next part, Buford to the Rescue, has been posted.**

**One more thing: Not that I expect anyone to actually answer this question since no one ever reviews my stories, but I'll ask anyway. I recently discovered the song ****_Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald _****by Gordon Lightfoot. I think I could write a pretty interesting Phineas and Ferb songfic for it. Is there any interest?**

_**EDD17SP**_


	2. Buford to the Rescue

Buford to the Rescue

Buford Van Stomm  
1972 El Camino SS:  
1970 452.2ci LS5 V8 engine-390 horsepower+346.8hp w/supercharger  
Wheelbase: 116in.  
Weight: 3,320lbs.  
Width: 75.4in.  
Transmission: Four-speed manual  
Color: Metallic black; chrome trim  
Notes: Restored by Steve Marcis and Buford Van Stomm of Boyd's Garage. Engine rebuilt and modified by Steve Marcis and Buford Van Stomm; Supercharger custom built by Phineas Flynn and Ferb Fletcher. Transmission by Tri-State Auto and Chopper.

The giant letter "E" had toppled from the roof exactly two weeks after the grand opening thirty years ago during a hurricane. At the time, the owner of the store did not have the funds to fix it. He had poured almost every penny he had into starting the business, to the point that he could not even afford a new "E" for the sign.

By the time the store took off and the owner was financially stable enough to have his sign repaired, the name STOR had stuck with the public. Those who had never seen the original sign thought the misspelling was intentional.

And thus, when Buford Van Stomm entered the STOR on February eleventh, 2015, the letter "E" remained M.I.A.

Buford had a routine: Every Wednesday and Friday, he stopped at the STOR after school and bought Tuff Gum before going to work at Steve's Garage.

Usually, as it was today, the convenience store was nearly deserted, for most people were still at work. Buford walked up the counter and grabbed his gum from next to the register. The female cashier knew the routine and didn't even have to scan the two packages of gum to know that Buford owed "$3.46, please," and Buford didn't need the cashier to tell him that. He already had the exact change in hand.

The instant the cash drawer opened, a man with a stubble beard wearing a bomber jacket over white t-shirt and blue jeans ran into the store and pushed Buford out of the way.

"Hey! Who do you think you are, punk?" Buford said angrily.

The man glared at Buford and pulled a gun from his coat pocket, which he proceeded to point at Buford.

"Whoa!" the cashier cried.

Buford raised his hands defensively and took a step back. "Okay, man, it's cool! It's cool!"

The man then pointed the gun at the cashier, who shrieked. "Put the money from the register in this bag." He retrieved a drawstring bag from his pocket and threw it on the counter. "Now!"

Her face totally white, the cashier used both hands to stuff the cash into the nylon sack and pulled the strings out to close the bag. The robber snatched it and with a snarl, ran angrily out the door.

"Oh, my God!" the cashier whispered, breathing hard. "I gotta call the police!"

"Don't bother!" Buford called as he raced out the front door. "I got this!"

Buford was just in time to see the robber climbing into a white 1994 Mazda RX-7 and peel out of the parking lot.

"You think you're gettin' away, don't ya, punk?"

Buford climbed into his own vehicle and started it, turning around and following the Mazda out of the parking lot.

The 1972 Chevy El Camino was no ordinary car/truck. It had been restored by Buford and Steve near the beginning of last summer. The LS6 engine that came in the El Camino when Buford bought it was scrapped and replaced with the LS5 from a 1970 El Camino. This engine, while older, produced more horsepower and torque than the newer model. In addition, Buford asked Phineas and Ferb to build him a supercharger that would surpass any supercharger available on the market. The result was a blower powered by a reactor made from unstable uranium isotopes that nearly doubled the power of the old car. In a drag race, only Steve's Ford Mustang could beat the El Camino.

The car/truck did have it's short comings, though. It was heavy and didn't handle well at high speeds. "It turns like the _Queen Mary_ when you're going over eighty," Steve liked to say.

With as much speed as he could still steer with, Buford followed the RX-7 though the city streets of Danville. On straight road, Buford closed the gap, but the robber would open it back up every time he made a turn.

Finally, the robber turned onto the on-ramp for the Tri-Sate Parkway. (The missing letter "t" in "state" is another story.) The Mazda opened the gap even more when Buford took the turn too fast. He had to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting the curb.

The Mazda's quick acceleration and easy handling had given the robber an advantage up until now, but on the straight highway, Buford knew, he could catch up. Few street cars in the world could keep up with his El Camino's speed.

Finally merging onto the highway, Buford put his foot to the floor and shifted up into third, then fourth gear, weaving his way through the thankfully light traffic, scanning the road ahead for the white Mazda. It wasn't long before the robber's car came into sight.

"Heeerrreee, kitty, kitty, kitty…" Buford whispered to himself as he crossed the bridge over the Danville River.

The robber dodged left around a dump truck just as Buford caught up, and then shifted to the right lane and slammed on the brakes. Buford couldn't see this; the dump truck blocked his view. The robber made a rather dangerous U-turn across the grassy median and sped back in the opposite direction.

Buford may not have seen the robber's clever maneuver, but he heard the squeal of tires as the Mazda's brakes locked up. The bully then saw the white car shooting across the median in his rearview mirror. He lifted off the accelerator and hung a hard left, making a U-turn across the median himself. He had to brake hard to complete the turn, slowing to below fifteen miles per hour.

"Nuts!"

The Mazda was getting smaller and smaller in the distance as Buford finally merged back onto the highway and resumed pursuit.

"Time for my secret weapon!" he said out loud to himself. He reached below the dash and flipped open a hidden switch cover, revealing a small toggle switch. No one, not even Steve, knew he had installed it.

Buford flicked the switch. A valve opened, and the nitrous bottle in the engine began releasing it's gas into the intake manifold. The amount of oxygen available in the cylinders increased and the high-octane fuel Buford filled his tank with burned even faster. The El Camino leapt forward, throwing it's driver back into the seat. Buford took a white knuckled grip on the steering wheel and gritted his teeth. He cranked on the wheel as fast as he could to dodge the cars in front of him, unknowingly cutting off Dr. Doofenshmirtz in his VW microbus.

"You're mine now, punk!"

And there it was. The robber's Mazda was one hundred yards ahead. Buford cut off the nitrous supply and slowly decelerated as he closed up on the back bumper of his target.

Buford changed lanes to the right, pulling up so that the front bumper of the El Camino was even with the back bumper of the Mazda. He had seen police to this on live broadcasts of high speed chases before. He drifted over toward the robber's car and touched the sides of the bumpers together. Then, he jerked the wheel to the left, hooking the Mazda and causing the robber's car to spin.

As the white car smashed backwards into the guardrail and Buford slammed on the brakes to stop, the bully realized where the cars were. They were on the bridge that spanned the Danville River. As Buford turned onto the shoulder and locked up the tires to stop, he looked for the Mazda in his rearview mirror.

The car had gone _through_ the concrete guardrail.

"Oh, no!"

Buford put the car in reverse and backed up quickly to the hole in the railing. Two thoughts went through his mind:

1. They can send me to jail for involuntary manslaughter if he dies. Or, they might rule it as premeditated!

2. I didn't mean to do that!

The teen stopped the car and set the parking brake when he reached the spot where the robber's car had gone over. He jumped out and scanned the river below. The car was no longer visible, but the water was still rippling where it had hit the water.

Without a second's hesitation, Buford kicked off his boots, threw off his winter jacket, took a deep breath, and did a perfect swan dive into the river.

The water was absolutely frigid. It was, after all, February. The cold shocked Buford to the point where he almost let out his breath, but he held it in.

The river was only about twelve feet deep, and the dive carried Buford almost all the way to the bottom. The white car was clearly visible in the murky water in front of him. The car's interior had filled with water and the robber was motionless inside. It appeared to Buford that the man had removed his seatbelt and managed to unlock the door, but the door was pinned against a large rock and would not open.

Buford swam over the car's windshield and punched at the glass with all his might. Normally, he would have been able to break through it easily with his meaty fist, but the water caused so much resistance that he could not get a good swing and he only succeeded in bruising his knuckles.

He spotted a discarded brick lying on the river bed and grabbed it. Swimming back over the car's hood, Buford brought it down with all his might on the windshield. The safety glass shattered, but did not break. It was weakened enough, though, that Buford could break through, and did so with one punch.

Buford was out of air. A few bubbles escaped his mouth as he kicked off the bottom and shot upward. His head broke the surface of the freezing water, and he took a few short, quick breaths before filling his lungs and diving back down.

He broke away more of the windshield, enlarging the hole enough to pull the man out. Finally, silently thanking the man for undoing his seatbelt before blacking out, Buford pulled the crook from the front seat of the car and kicked hard for the surface.

After quickly catching his breath, Buford struck out for the shore line, about fifty yards away. It seemed to take an eternity to get there, but when he did, the bully spotted a clear area among the brambles and set the man down there on his back.

He could hear sirens in the distance. Someone surely saw the crash and called the police. Buford could even tell just by the sounds of the sirens that there at least two ambulances, as well.

"Come on, wake up!"

The man didn't. Buford slapped him on the cheek, hard. The man remained unconscious.

"Oh, come on. I don't want to have to kiss you."

Buford put his lips against the man's mouth and breathed into the robber's waterlogged lungs. He then began pushing against the crook's chest, trying to push out the water. Another breath, a few more thrusts against the chest. Finally, on the third breath, the man coughed and proceeded to throw up as he regained consciousness.

Quickly remembering who this guy was, Buford spotted a few coils of discarded fishing line a few feet away and used it to tie the man's wrists together behind his back.

A few moments later, the police arrived. Buford suddenly became very aware of the cold. The river had been freezing, and combined with an air temperature of twenty-six and a light breeze blowing, the bully's skin was blue; he felt frozen to the bone.

A while later, Buford sat on the back bumper of one of the ambulances on the road's shoulder, a heavy blanket wrapped around him. The police were asking him questions.

"Well, son," the cop said, "You were extremely brave and quite valiant. But, please, don't ever pursue a criminal on the road again. You or someone else could have been killed."

"Yes, sir." Buford had learned long ago not to argue with cops.

"Alright, you're free to go," the policeman said, flipping closed his little notebook and turning to walk away.

"Sir?"

"Yes, son?"

Buford hesitated. "Please…please make sure the STOR gets back their money. I think the cashier likes me."

The cop smiled. "Of course, son. We'll get our drying team right on the task of drying out that money."

"You have a whole team specifically for drying?"

"You'd be surprised how often evidence gets wet."

Buford shook his head. "Man, they'll spend tax payer's money on anything these days."

"What was that?"

"Nothin.'"

* * *

It was another thirty minutes before Buford finally arrived at Boyd's Garage for work. Steve observed that he appeared to be quite damp and looked exhausted.

"What happened to you?" Steve asked.

Buford looked his friend and boss in the eyes. "You would not believe the day I've had."

* * *

Two days later, Buford returned to the STOR for Tuff Gum. The cashier practically jumped over the counter and wrapped the bully in a hug that Buford thought might cut off the circulation to his brain, but he didn't mind.

After all, the cashier was Milly.

**The inquiry was made how the ****_Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald_**** relates to Phineas and Ferb for a songfic. The whole point is: it doesn't! There is absolutely no connection between a popular children's cartoon and a 729ft. cargo ship crossing Lake Superior with a load of Iron Ore in a gale. None whatsoever. That's the whole reason why I want to write it! The show did those couple episodes where they just threw Phineas and Ferb into a random time period and situation. I want to stick the characters into an even stranger and more unlikely situation. I also had an idea for a double-feature songfic with ****_The Wabash Cannonball _****and ****_Wreck of the Old 97_****. I probably won't unless there is interest from my readers because two stories in the P&F Industries series (the next two after this story) will largely involve a train. I don't know if anyone will be interested in more than two stories about trains, but we'll see what happens with the reviews. (If anyone else ****_does _****review.)**

**P.S. The Indiana Jones-style episode was awesome (That's my favorite movie series) and I really want to write an Ohio Flynn and Rhode Island Fletcher adventure. Something with airplanes…(Just want to make sure I hit ****_all_**** the transportation methods.) I have SO MANY story ideas and only so much time to write them. ARG!**


	3. Pushing the Envelope

Pushing the Envelope

Phineas Flynn and Ferb Fletcher  
1969 Chevelle SS 396:  
452.2ci Turbo-jet V8 engine-350 horsepower  
Wheelbase: 112in.  
Weight: 3,320lbs.  
Width: 76in.  
Transmission: Four-speed manual w/modified "Supe-R-shift" linkage  
Color: Metallic Red with Black stripes; chrome trim  
Notes: Restored by Steve Marcis and Buford Van Stomm of Boyd's Garage. Engine custom built by "Smokey" Erikson of Danville HotRodderz inc. Transmission by Tri-State Auto and Chopper. Outer appearance is of SS396, however, the engine is the same as the one in Buford's El Camino; It does not match the SS396 package.

It didn't fit.

They had begged their mom to let them park it in the garage.

"Mom," Phineas pleaded, "it's a classic! We can't leave it out in the elements! We have to park it in the garage."

"Unless you can somehow make your car and mine fit in that garage, mine is the only car that will be in that garage. I don't care how old your car is."

Phineas and Ferb walked away both a bit miffed. They had tried, to no avail, to squeeze their '69 Chevelle into the garage next to their mom's station wagon. It simply didn't fit.

"I don't think mom will go for us modifying the garage. The only way we can build is out and the driveway is narrow enough as it is," Phineas said.

"Shrinking the cars to make them both fit isn't an option, either," Ferb observed.

"Yeah. You couldn't drive the car in or out of the garage. You'd have to push them in and out and I don't think mom would go for that, especially when it's raining. Or snowing."

At the moment, they kept the car under a tarp when they weren't driving it, which was fine, but it was a hassle to take off and put on every time they used it. When they didn't both need a car to go to two separate places, like when they went to school, they would just both ride in the old, tan Dodge Intrepid they still owned.

"What if we had our own garage? It would certainly give us a place to store all of our tools and excess building material in addition to protecting the Chevelle from the elements."

Ferb counted down on his fingers. He knew what was coming.

"Ferb, I know what we're going to do today!"

Ferb didn't even look at his brother. He just kept on counting.

"Hey…where's Perry?"

_Yup_, Ferb thought, _Now we can start building._

* * *

"Good morning, Agent P," Major Monogram said to Perry, who was already seated in front of the screen. "Sorry about having to use the old elevator lair entrance on the back of your host family's house. Carl could not come up with an original idea for an entrance today, so we had to use a repeat.

"Anyway, Doofenshmirtz had apparently doing a lot of research into the physics of cheese. I honestly have no idea what this means, so Carl is going to explain it for me."

Carl stepped onto the screen. "Hello, Agent P. Specifically, Dr. Doofenshmirtz has been doing a lot of experimentation with spray cheese in a can: mostly testing to see how far he can shoot it. All of the notes we intercepted from his blog show that he was calculating spray cheese in an arc."

Monogram stepped back in. "We can only assume that Dr. Doofenshmirtz is building an inator that fires cheese over a long distance. Go get captured, find out his evil scheme, escape, beat him up, cause the inator to fire off once in a random direction, and then destroy the machine."

Perry glared at him.

"What? It's what you do every day! Or should I pretend like the whole plot isn't cliché?"

Perry shook his head in disgust and jumped out of his chair.

"Good luck, Agent P!" Monogram called.

"I don't think he's listening anymore, sir."

"Don't you have something to go calibrate, calculate or carbonate?"

"No."

"Oh. Okay then. In that case, I'm going to leave, since you obviously aren't going to."

"Fine by me, sir."

Monogram sighed. "I get no respect."

* * *

Plans were quickly but carefully drawn up, since this structure would be more permanent that most. Permits were very quickly and easily obtained. The brothers had applied for more permits since they were eight than most contractors do in their entire careers. The township barely looked at their requests any more. They followed every zoning law and building code in the book to the letter every time, and therefore, when "Flynn-Fletcher" appeared at the top of a permit, it was passed without a second thought.

"Okay," Phineas said, looking at the blueprint with Ferb, "We're going to tunnel under the backyard, with the ramp to go down starting at the end of the second to last concrete block in the driveway. The last section of concrete will have to be turned into a gate of sorts. It will raise up to the same angle as the ramp below it to allow cars' access."

The both entered the existing garage and began building a tunneling machine to make the digging faster. The ground was very cold and hard thanks to the brutally cold winter they had had thus far, so the machine would have to work very slowly to avoid damage.

One musical digging montage later, a sizable rectangular cave had been carved out underneath the end of the backyard. The last of the dump trucks carrying away the dirt had just left.

"Time for the concrete trucks!" Phineas said.

The trucks backed in as forms were placed for the walls and floor.

"Ugh, this is taking too long."

"How about a second montage?" Ferb suggested.

Phineas thought for a moment. "Well, normally that would seem like over doing it, but since this isn't a television episode and the audience can't actually see the montages, I guess that would be alright."

A second montage saw the garage take shape.

"Thanks, guys!" Phineas called to the drivers of the concrete trucks. "Now we can start moving in."

Ferb held up another blueprint, which Phineas took from him and studied. "A turntable in the floor to turn the car around? So we won't have to back in or back out? Ferb, you always have the best ideas!"

* * *

_Doofenshmirtz Evil Incorporated!_

Perry landed on the balcony and discarded his hang glider, quickly swapping out his helmet for his fedora. He really wished that one of his vehicles had been built with cold weather in mind. The platypus quickly ran into Doof's apartment.

"Perry the Platypus!" Doofenshmirtz exclaimed, as was custom. Then, "You look frozen! You're all pale in the face. Here, why don't you come into the kitchen and I'll make you some tea while I tell you my evil plan."

Perry gratefully nodded his head and followed his nemesis into the kitchen. As Heinz filled the tea pot with water, he began to explain.

"This one is sort of a lengthy backstory, Perry the Platypus. It all started a few weeks ago. I was watching a movie and eating a bag of Private Johnston's Famous Triangular Toasted Chips. I know, right? That is a name that just does not roll of the tongue. I'll say PJFTTC, for short. Anyway, I noticed that on the back of the bag, there were details for contest. You could enter to win a free trip to the Galapagos Islands! I was not about to pass that up, because, you know, it's cold here in the Tri-State Area, but it's warm on the equator.

"So of course, I entered, but I noticed that under the contest details, in practically microscopic print, it said 'No purchase necessary.' But, obviously, I already purchased the chips, and I didn't notice the contest details until after I bought them, so obviously, purchase was necessary! I got totally ripped off! I could have just written down the contest rules in the store and not spent $3.99!"

The teapot began to whistle and Doof shut off the stove before pouring the water into a mug already containing a tea bag. He handed the mug to Perry.

"Cream and sugar is right there by the napkin holder, Perry the Platypus. So, to get my revenge on the PJFTTC company, I built this!"

He pulled a remote from his pocket and pressed the button. A mechanical noise was heard, slightly muffled. "Oh, yeah, you can't see it from here. It's in the other room."

Perry took a sip of his tea and hopped off the chair he was sitting on, still carrying the mug. He walked into the lab and spotted the invention.

"BEHOLD!" Perry had not realized that Doof had followed and was standing about two feet behind him. The scientist's loud exclamation startled the platypus, and Perry nearly dropped the mug. "The Cover-with-cheeseinator!"

Perry regained his composure and calmly took another sip.

"With this device, I will blast the PJFTTC factory with sticky, gooey, hot liquid cheese!"

Perry rolled his eyes.

"Soon, all the workers will complain at the disgusting conditions and quit, leaving the factory where they will find me standing with job applications to be my minions! And best of all, after enough time has passed, the cheese will render all of their precious triangular toasted chips soggy and inedible…at least, I think it will…and with no product to sell and no workers to make more, the PJFCC, I mean JPFFCT, I mean…you know what I mean, the chip company will go out of business."

Perry looked at Doofenshmirtz through half closed eyes.

"Don't give me that look. I know that look. That's your, _You've got to be kidding me,_ look. But I'm telling you, this is going to work, look. Whoa, that was interesting."

* * *

"You know, Ferb, with all of our tools, excess building supplies, and work benches, there isn't really enough room in here for the Chevelle."

"Well, it would be a small matter to push back the wall closer to the middle of the yard and expand the floor and ceiling out to meet it."

"That's a good idea. And, if we have more room, we can add a climate control system, too. Ooh! And we could build a passageway that connects our garage to the garage on the house! Think about it, Ferb! Our own secret passageway! 'Course, it wouldn't stay secret very long because it's so cool we would want to show everybody."

Ferb had stopped listening twenty-three words and two contractions ago. He was already firing up the drilling machine again.

* * *

"Here, I'll show you, Perry the Platypus. I'll activate my inator right now. Just give me a moment to adjust the angle." Dr. Doofenshmirtz began busily adjusting the inator to aim at the PJFTTC factory, talking incessantly. "I was originally going to use aerosol spray cheese, but it just wasn't gooey enough, plus the firing capabilities of compressed air just doesn't give it far enough range, especially since I can't fire in a straight line, there's too many buildings in the way. Either way, I wouldn't get enough range from firing straight, the stream of cheese has arc through the sky and hit the target from above. So, that's why I used a big water pump modified to withstand the increased friction of sharp cheddar cheese."

He stepped back as he finished speaking. "Okay, I think it's ready." He began his usual evil rant. "Now, Perry the Platypus, watch as the-"

Doof was interrupted by a beeping sound. "Is that yours?" he asked, pointing at Perry. Perry looked at his watch and nodded. "Go ahead and answer it. Take your time. I'll wait." He leaned against the massive tank of liquid cheese and examined his fingernails.

Perry tapped the crystal and Major Monogram's face replaced the analog watch face.

"Sorry to interrupt your mission, Agent P, but your owners have been tunneling under their backyard and are coming dangerously close to discovering your hidden lair. You need to head home right away and make sure they don't discover your hideout…again."

Perry saluted his boss. The watch beeped as the message ended and the watch face returned. Perry chugged down the last of his tea and started running for the balcony, where his hang glider was waiting for him, weighted down with a planter.

"Where are you going!" Doof called out to Perry. "I'm not going to wait for you, you know!"

Perry replaced his fedora with the helmet, picked up his hang glider, took a running start and leapt over the railing. The breeze caught the glider and Perry steered toward home.

"Fine!" Doof yelled to no one. "I'll just go on ahead with my plan."

He stepped over to his inator and pressed the "fire" button. The stream of liquid cheese spewed from the tip of the barrel and arced across the sky.

Doofenshmirtz looked through the view finder of the Cover-with-cheeseinator. It was the only way he could see the factory from his building because it used a camera positioned across town. The buildings in town blocked the direct line of sight between Doofenshmirtz Evil Incorporated and the factory.

"Come on, come on, come on…"

Finally, the cheese stream reached the factory, squarely hitting the roof. The liquid cheese worked it's way inside though every little crevasse and crack.

"YES! It worked! My plan actually worked!" Doofenshmirtz exclaimed. "I better get down there. There's going to be a whole lot of out-of-work people looking for jobs and I have to be there to hire them. As minions, of course!"

The evil scientist shrugged on his winter coat and grabbed a stack of blank job applications from his desk. As he headed out the door, across town, exactly 374 employees and the company president all said, at exactly the same time: "Mmmm…cheese."

* * *

Perry landed on the roof of the Flynn-Fletcher house. Phineas and Ferb were underground.

The platypus pulled down the eye shield on his helmet and twisted a small knob on the side. The clear shield instantly became x-ray vision capable.

Perry's blood ran cold. He could see the outer shell of his lair and the entire underground complex that Phineas and Ferb had built. The boys were about dead-center under the backyard, running the drilling machine. They didn't know it, but the drill's tip was only about five feet from coming into contact with the metal shell of Perry's lair.

Once again swapping his helmet for his fedora, Perry ran to the down spout and jumped in. The aluminum miraculously flexed, allowing the secret agent to slide down. But, instead of the ground, the down spout emptied Perry out inside his lair.

Perry thought hard, but he was having trouble thinking coherently. His mind kept wandering to what would happen it Phineas and Ferb discovered his lair.

The boys had been in his lair twice before. The first time, they accidentally discovered one of his secret entrances. Fortunately, Phineas assumed Ferb had built it, and, thanks to Phineas's inability to allow his brother to speak that day, neither boy suspected anything of their pet. The second time was when they discovered his secret identity and he led them to finding his lair on purpose.

That time, their memories of the day had been wiped, but the Amnesia-inator used to do so had a short coming. It could only _suppress_ memories, not really _erase_ them. The memories could easily return with the right stimulator. A sight, sound, or smell from their adventure could trigger a relapse, and the memory would return. Seeing the inside of Perry's lair would almost surely cause such a return. And, there was no way to suppress a specific part of a person's memory with the Amnesia-inator. To make Phineas and Ferb forget Perry's secret identity again would mean erasing seven and a half years of their life from their memories. The agency would have no choice but to relocate Perry to another family.

Perry cold hear the drilling machine carving away the dirt outside. He needed to think of a plan, and fast!

* * *

"Whoa! WHOA! _WHOA!_" Phineas called. "Stop the drill, Ferb!"

The tip of the drill had just shredded though some thin piece of metal and broken into some sort of cavern. Ferb stopped the drill and backed the tunneling machine up. The brothers left the controls and walked over to the hole in the wall. They peered through, expecting to find a natural cavern. Instead, they found a very small room that appeared to be an armored bunker, and inside were Buford and Baljeet.

"Hey!" Buford yelled. "You guys aren't supposed to be here!"

"I concur!" Baljeet added. "You must leave immediately!"

Of course, Phineas couldn't leave without knowing what was going on. "What is this place?" he asked, looking around.

Baljeet sighed. "Buford and I are CIA agents."

"Really? That's so cool!"

"This bunker is our home base, since we are stationed so far from Washington D.C." Buford said. "We aren't in here much, but when we need it…"

"So…why is under our backyard?" Phineas asked.

"We are here more than we are home. Besides," Baljeet added, "part of our assignment is to make sure that your technology does not fall into the wrong hands."

"Okay," Phineas said, placing a hand on his chin. "That makes sense. But-"

"No!" Buford said. "No more questions! We've already told you too much!"

"Sorry."

"Now look," Buford continued. "We don't want to have to wipe your memories 'cause you guys are our friends. Can you guys keep this operation a secret?"

"Sure we can! Right, Ferb?"

Ferb nodded.

"When we say you have to keep it a secret, we mean 100% secrecy!" Baljeet added. "You can never say anything about this to anyone! Including us! If you say anything about this to us, even if no one else is around to hear, we will pretend we don't know what you are talking about. You can't offer to help us, you can't ask to join us…nothing! You should do your best to forget about this and never, ever think about it again!"

"Understood," Phineas said. "Just give us a minute to fix the wall and-"

"That's okay, I got this," Buford interrupted. He grabbed a large piece of sheet metal and slid it into place. "Just bury it again."

"Okay!" Phineas called through the metal. "Come on, Ferb. This is deep enough, anyway. Let's put back a few feet of dirt and replace the wall. No one will ever find that bunk-…I mean, that thing that definitely doesn't exist."

Ferb nodded and the brothers set back to work.

* * *

The giant projection screens fell away, revealing Buford and Baljeet standing on a platform about seven feet from the ceiling in Perry's lair. The drill had broken though here. The four screens had blocked Phineas and Ferb's view down into the lair and simulated a small bunker that was as big as the platform Buford and Baljeet stood on.

Below, the giant monitor lit up and Major Monogram appeared.

"Good work, Agent P!"

Buford and Baljeet's faces suddenly folded out from a central point along the nose and revealed Perry behind Baljeet's face and Pinky the Chihuahua behind Buford's. Each animal agent stuck out a paw and hi-fived each other.

"I gotta hand it to Carl," Monogram continued. "These robots are much more realistic than those ones he built seven years ago. They're practically real people!"

Perry and Pinky hopped out on the platform, which slowly lowered to the floor. The animals hopped off and walked over in front of the screen.

"Agent P, thanks to your quick thinking, the boys remain unaware of your secret identity and we no longer have to worry about them finding your lair again." Monogram smiled. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm late for a meeting."

Carl's voice came from off screen. "Aren't you just going to the company sauna?"

"Carl…" Monogram said slowly, anger evident.

The screen blanked out. Pinky gave Perry a quick salute, which Perry returned, and the Chihuahua left the lair.

Perry slumped into his chair and removed his fedora to wipe his brow. That was too close for comfort. He made a mental note to congratulate Carl on his animatronics the next time he saw the intern in person.

* * *

"Ahhhh," Phineas sighed. "All finished. We now have a place not only to park, but to store our excess building materials and tools, a work area, and a break room that we probably will never use. We have a turntable to park on that will turn the Chevelle around so we never have to back in or out, a secret passageway from the main garage to down here so we don't have to go outside when it's cold or precipitating, and a climate control system to make sure that the interior of the car is always comfortable when we climb in so we don't waste fuel idling to warm up or cool down. I'd have to say this is the coolest garage in the world."

"I just had a thought," Ferb said simply.

"What's that."

"We'll be leaving for collage in six months, and then this garage will be obsolete."

"Well, that's more use than we get out of most of our projects. Most of the time they disappear after an afternoon."

"True. And I suppose a giant underground garage _would_ increase the property value should mom and dad ever decide to move."

Phineas nodded. "Yup. I guess so."

They stood in silence for a minute, staring into the opening of the garage. A light February breeze was blowing.

"So Buford and Baljeet work for the CIA."

Ferb turned around and headed for the house. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said.

"Oh, yeah. Right. That never happened."

"Ngrgrgrgrgrgrgr."

"Oh, there you are, Perry."

* * *

Doofenshmirtz arrived outside the Private Johnston's Famous Triangular Toasted Chips factory, applications in hand, practically skipping with joy at the thought of finally having minions of his own.

The scene stopped the scientist in his tracks.

"What is this?"

There was a line of people stretching halfway down the block, all heading toward a tiny concession stand at the end of the factory's front walk. The sign on top of the concession stand read: **FRESH HOT NACHOS**. Two workers stood behind the counter. One handed out paper trays filled with toasted triangular chips covered with the cheese Doofenshmirtz had covered the factory with while the other collected money from the customers. More workers were busily carting wheelbarrows filled with more product out to fill the heating tray in the concession stand's counter.

"No! You weren't supposed to benefit from the cheese! No fair! You've transformed my evil into a cheap, easily marketable product to be easily turned into profit!"

The woman scooping the nachos asked, "You want some, mister?"

The emotions inside Doofenshmirtz were boiling up to beyond rage. He was sick of his evil plans always backfiring on him and he had a bloodlust for revenge on these people. He would stop at nothing to bring pain and suffering upon those who had embarrassed him.

Then again, those nachos looked really good.

"Sure, how much?" he asked dejectedly.

"$2.50."

"Do you take Mastercard?"

**Surprise! I managed to get Perry and Doofenshmirtz in this one! I had not planned on Doof being in it at all, it just sort of happened when I wrote it, and I think the results are hilarious!**

**Next chapter: ****_Bullies, Eat My Dust_****, featuring Baljeet and (hooray!) The Superchicken.**

**P.S. Please, don't forget to review and post your opinions on the potential songfics for ****_Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald _****and the double feature ****_Wabash Cannonball/Wreck of the Old 97_****.**

**P.S.S I made up "Supe-R-shift" linkage, it's not real, so don't start searching the internet trying to figure out what it is.**

**EDD17SP**


	4. Bullies, Eat My Dust!

Bullies, Eat My Dust!

Baljeet Tjinder  
1977 Pontiac Trans-Am Special Edition:  
455ci V8 engine-360 horsepower  
Wheelbase: 108.2in.  
Weight: 3,530lbs.  
Width: 73.4in.  
Transmission: Four-speed manual  
Color: Metallic Black with Gold Pinstriping detail; blacked out trim  
Notes: Purchased at auction by Steve Marcis. Passed to Baljeet Tjinder after the aforementioned crashed it into a tree. Repaired by Dr. Doofenshmirtz's Revivinator.

_Tuesday, February 4, 2015_

Baljeet's eyes had been glued to the clock for the last five minutes. He was counting the seconds until the bell rang. He already had on his winter coat and his books were all secured in his backpack, which was already slung onto one shoulder. The Indian teen was prepared.

The very instant the bell rang, Baljeet leapt up from his desk. He slung his free arm through the other strap on his backpack and sprinted down the hall. Granted, "sprinting" for Baljeet was more like a jog to most.

He weaved his way through the crowd of his peers in the hallway and finally managed to push out the door. He slowed for just a moment and risked a look behind him.

There they were: Five guys from the football team, the same ones who bullied him every day, just exiting the school now.

Baljeet took off for the parking lot at a dead run, but he was too late. They had spotted him and they were closing in fast.

"*pant* *pant* Just a little further…*pant*"

Baljeet was out of breath by the time he reached the pavement of the parking lot, but now that his target was in sight, he pressed on with heroic resolve. His car, the 1977 Trans Am, affectionately nicknamed "The Superchicken," had just come into view.

Baljeet felt for the keys in his pocket, which was difficult to do while running. He noted that he should have had it in hand when he was waiting for the bell to ring. He finally got the metal ring free and grasped the ignition key, prepared to unlock the door. He also slipped his left arm out from the strap of his backpack, prepared to sling it off onto the passenger seat when he entered the car.

_Only thing I miss about my Honda Civic: Power door locks that could be unlocked from halfway across the parking lot._

The bullies were about twenty feet behind him. Baljeet jammed the key in the lock, twisted, yanked open the door, threw his bag onto the passenger seat as he closed the door, started the car, shifted into first gear, and…slowly stepped on the gas pedal, driving at a safe speed. He was, after all, in a parking lot.

As he headed for the exit, Baljeet glanced over his shoulder. The bullies were no longer right behind him. As he turned back, he could see them scattering across the parking lot, each fumbling for their own keys.

Baljeet could see the road. He was there! He had done it! He had gotten away wedgie-free!

Suddenly, there was a squeal of tires and Baljeet was forced to slam on the brakes to avoid crashing into a car that had just sped in front of him and stopped. The driver of the car got out. It was one of the football players that had been chasing him. Baljeet put the car in reverse and tried to back up, but another car cut off his escape from behind.

Baljeet quickly locked the doors. The antagonists strolled calmly up to his driver side door. Baljeet gulped. He knew exactly what was coming.

The five jocks grabbed the door handle and pulled, straining. Suddenly, the door flew open. They had broken the lock off.

"Where do you think you're goin,' puny?"

* * *

Buford and Steve both looked up from their work as Baljeet walked into the garage. Buford had already been there for half an hour.

"Good LORD, man!" Steve exclaimed at the sight of his Indian friend.

Baljeet's winter jacket had been torn in three places as were the knees of both pant legs. The skin around his left eye was red and swollen, black and blue areas already starting to show. There was dirt smeared on his forehead and mud plastered his black hair down. The elastic band of his underwear was sticking out in the back, appearing very stretched.

"You step on a land mine or something'?" Buford asked.

"No." Baljeet's voice was very high-pitched and pained. He sighed and sank into one of the chairs around the table in the corner and painfully shrugged off his ruined jacket. "The football players were particularly rough today. I think Josh Richardson's girlfriend broke up with him and he was taking his anger out on me. His buddy's used his anger as excuse to be extra aggressive, as well."

Steve stared off at the corner and said, "You know, I never will understand how horrible jerks like that always seem to have a girlfriend, and yet, here's me, nicest guy ever, twenty-three years old, couldn't get a girlfriend if my life depended on it."

Buford and Baljeet both gave Steve a weird look. "Returning to the original issue…" Buford said to Steve.

"Sorry."

"We need to come up with a way for you to get rid of those bullies once and for all," Buford told Baljeet.

"We have tried that many times, remember?" Baljeet said with disgust. "Even Phineas and Ferb's inventions couldn't help me."

"Still can't quite fathom Phineas and Ferb's inventions failing," Buford returned.

"But you were there when the Aggression Repeler exploded in the boy's locker room."

Buford grabbed Baljeet by the front of his shirt and pulled the smaller boy closer until their forehead's were physically touching. "You swore you would never talk about that again!" he yelled.

"Why, what happened when the Aggression Repeler exploded?" Steve asked.

"NOTHING!" Buford and Baljeet both yelled.

Buford shoved his friend back into the chair. Meanwhile, Phineas, Ferb, and Isabella walked in.

"Hey, guys!" Phineas greeted.

"Yo," Steve replied nonchalantly.

"Hey." From Buford.

"Hello, my friends," Baljeet called weakly.

"My, gosh, Baljeet, what happened to you?" Isabella asked.

"Bullies," Baljeet, Buford and Steve all answered simultaneously.

"Ah, gotcha."

"I was so confident I had beaten them today," Baljeet continued. "I was completely ready to go when the bell rang. I had my jacket already on, backpack packed and on, watching the clock. I beat them out the door and made it to my car, and was halfway out of the parking lot when they boxed me in with their cars."

"Didn't you lock the doors so they couldn't get to you?" Phineas asked.

"Of course! They just all pulled on the door handle until the lock broke." He turned to Steve. "That reminds me, can you fix my door lock again?"

"Sure."

"So there was no way for you to escape?" Isabella asked.

"Not a chance in the world."

"Hold up a sec," Buford asked. "Were you driving safely in the parking lot?"

"Yes, as always."

"Well, there's your problem right there, dude! You have a car that could out run every car in that parking lot, except maybe mine-"

"And mine," Isabella added.

"And ours," Ferb said.

"-but you drive too slow and careful! If you used that Trans Am of yours to it's full potential, you could escape those bullies when you can beat them to your car!"

"Ugh, you know that I'm not a good driver!" Baljeet said almost angrily. "I have enough trouble driving the speed limit! How am I supposed to outrun those bullies in a crowded parking lot? I already crashed this car once and I don't think it'll magically fix itself again!"

"I'd still like to know how it that…" Steve said to no one in particular.

"Well, then maybe you need driving lessons," Phineas offered.

"I have had lessons, both at school and at the DMV prior to getting my license. You guys all know that I nearly failed my road test." He hung his head. "I guess I am just not a good driver."

"Well," Phineas said slyly, "Maybe you just need a different teacher."

"Oh, no!" Baljeet held up his hands. "Uh-uh! No thank you! I have had enough of your big ideas when it comes to the subject of protecting me from bullies."

Phineas chuckled nervously and gave Ferb a knowing glance. Though nearly everything they had ever invented had worked flawlessly, for some reason they were cursed when it came to helping Baljeet with his bully problem. They had had to rebuild a few sections of the school as a result.

"I didn't mean me," Phineas continued. "There is a way better driver than me that could probably teach you."

Everyone in the room looked at Steve.

"What?"

Baljeet stood from his chair and rushed over to Steve. "Can you teach me to drive like a maniac like you?"

"I don't drive like a maniac!"

"Yeah, you kinda do," Isabella said slowly.

"Help me, Steve Marcis…you're- agh!- _you are _my only hope!" Baljeet begged, shivering at the contraction.

Steve thought for a minute. "Okay, fine. But only because you quoted Star Wars."

"Hooray!"

* * *

_Thursday, February 13, 2015_

It was the exact scene as it played out last Tuesday.

Baljeet reached the Superchicken with seconds to spare, the bullies close behind him. This time however, he had taken the driver's side T-top out before school that morning, and with the window down, it left a big hole for him to climb through. This way, he didn't even have to unlock the door.

Baljeet tossed his bag onto the passenger seat and then climbed over the door as he had been practicing. The engine roared to life and the Indian boy threw the shifter into first. The tires smoked as he put his foot down on the gas and he did a slow drift out of his parking space.

In his mirror, Baljeet could see the bullies once again running for their cars. Feeling a bit cocky, he let off the gas and slowed down.

"I am going to give you jokers a taste of your own medicine!"

As was to be expected, Josh tried to block Baljeet's exit with his car. When the football player's car slid in front of the Superchicken, Baljeet didn't even hit the brake. Instead, he shifted into reverse and floored the gas. A huge cloud of smoke rose from the spinning rear tires and the car leapt backwards.

Another car was closing from behind. Baljeet spun the wheel to the left and braked slightly, the front of the car spinning around to follow the momentum. He shifted back into first gear and turned hard left down an isle to avoid hitting the oncoming car.

The bullies were dumbstruck! Never the less, they started to chase the old Pontiac down the isle.

At the end of the isle of cars, one had to turn left or right, for it was the edge of the parking lot. Baljeet did neither. Grinning mischievously, he continued out onto the grass, the bullies following right behind. In his mirror, Baljeet could see that Josh was right behind him in his Nissan Altima.

"I have got you right where I want you," the Indian teen whispered to himself.

Baljeet slowed down so that the Nissan was right on his bumper. This close, the much larger Trans Am blocked Josh's view of whatever lie ahead.

Josh was angry. He was out for blood now. Just as he was about to bump Baljeet's car and send his target spinning, Baljeet cranked the wheel to the left and made an almost 90 degree turn.

"AHHH!" Josh yelled. Directly in front of him, too close to avoid, was the chain link fence that surrounded the football field. The Nissan tore through the fence and Josh braked to a stop, finding himself sitting on the thirty yard line.

His six buddies behind him, unfortunately, did not avoid the fence either, and all crashed into Josh from behind, leaving a pileup of cars sitting on the football field.

Baljeet laughed to himself. He headed for the road and drove off the curb. The car bottomed out briefly and bounced hard on the suspension, but Baljeet caught it and steered for Steve's garage. Buford's El Camino pulled up next to him at the first traffic light.

"All right, Baljeet! Way to go!" Buford called after rolling down the window.

"Thank you very much," Baljeet said, taking a bow, which was difficult while sitting in car.

The light turned green.

"Race you to Steve's!" Buford called.

"You are so on!"

Both classic cars peeled out and tore down the asphalt toward Steve's garage.

**Greetings once again! I kinda enjoy posting one chapter at a time. (Don't expect me to make a habit out of it, though.)**

**Once again, I must BEG you all to review this, and all of my stories. I know, I only have, like twelve or thirteen readers, but you guys never review me. Let me know if you're interested in the two possible songfics I mentioned at the end of the previous chapters, too.**

**The next chapter is the last one, entitled ****_Why Valentine's Day Sucks_****, featuring Steve and Isabella. No, there is no romance between the two of them. After that, it is going to be a long wait before my next story is posted. It is probably the most important story in the series and also probably the longest, but I'll talk more about it in the author's note in the last chapter.**

**Until next time (Please Review Me!)**

_**EDD17SP**_


	5. Why Valentine's Day Sucks

Why Valentine's Day Sucks

Steve Marcis  
1970 Ford Mustang Mach 1:  
358ci V8 Roush/Yates Racing engine-850 horsepower+120hp w/supercharger  
Wheelbase: 108in.  
Weight: 3,238lbs.  
Width: 71.1in.  
Transmission: Four-speed NASCAR transmission  
Color: Metallic black with DEWALT yellow stripes and trim; sports yellow "17" on roof and doors, stylized based on Matt Kenseth's number, circa 2000-2012; airbrushed non-original Ford emblems on hood base and rear bumper.  
Notes: Restored by Steve Marcis

Though he did not show any sign of noticing, he knew exactly what car had just pulled up and who was driving it. He didn't need to look to identify the car that he and Buford had built.

She didn't need to look hard to recognize the figure. He was easily identifiable by his sunglasses and Ford Racing hat. She did not, however, have any possible explanation for what he was doing.

She put the borrowed Ford Galaxy in neutral and set the parking brake. She turned the car off and climbed out, closing the door behind her.

He put the bottle to his lips and swallowed a bit of the contents, still refusing to look at the figure approaching him.

She called out to him. "What are you doing on the roof?"

He responded, "Brooding."

She called to him again. "Can I come up?"

"If you must."

She climbed the aluminum extension ladder propped against the gutter on the front of the building. Now that she was closer, she could see that he had not shaved in a few days. He was also holding an open bottle of beer in his right hand, which was weird because she had never once seen him drink liquor. He was lying against the roof pitch as if it were a reclining chair, one leg crossing the other, left hand behind his head.

"Why are you lying on the roof? It's cold."

"It's not that cold. This is the warmest day of the year so far, even if it is only 54 degrees."

"Still…why the roof?"

"I told you, I'm brooding."

"Hence the beer, I suppose."

"Exactly. Why are you here?"

"I'm looking for Phineas. I haven't seen him all day, he won't answer my texts or phone calls, even Ferb doesn't know where he is. He isn't sick, though, because he came to school with Ferb this morning, but after they got to school, Phineas disappeared."

"Weird."

"So, I've been looking for him all over town. He wasn't at home, or at the mall, or Tri-State Plank and Board."

"Or, as I like to call it, 'the lumber yard.'"

"And apparently, he's not here either."

"Nope. I'm all alone here. Not even Buford. I gave him the day off."

She gestured to the open area next to him. "May I?"

"Of course."

She sat down on the shingled roof and laid back like he was. "How can you lay here like this?" She asked, fidgeting uncomfortably.

"Trust me. When most of your time is spent lying on concrete floor under some various car, shingles on tar paper on plywood might as well be a memory foam mattress."

He reached over to the six pack of Budweiser on the roof next to him and grabbed a bottle, which he offered to her. "Want a beer?"

"I'm not old enough to drink alcohol."

"No, you aren't legally old enough to purchase alcohol. But as long as you don't get drunk and drive, you're fine."

She didn't respond. He pulled his keys from his pocket and popped the cap off the bottle with a Ford bottle opener keychain. He held the bottle out to her, and she took it hesitantly.

"Really? A Ford bottle opener? Does everything you own have a Ford logo on it?"

"No. Most of my stuff is Matt Kenseth merchandise. But, since the author figures that most people don't know who that is or what Matt Kenseth merchandise should look like, and to avoid trying to explain what it looks like, he finds it easier to just say it's Ford themed, because everyone can picture that. But, if they were paying attention to the first story, they would know what my Matt Kenseth shirt looks like. And since cartoon characters never seem to change clothes, except apparently, for your story four chapters ago, the author only had to describe it once."

She gave him a blank look. "Wow. That was a really boring explanation."

"Oh, just shut up and drink your beer."

She glared at him for a few moments before pressing the glass bottle to her lips and taking a hesitant sip. The sip was followed immediately by a perfect spit take.

"Yuck! *cough* *cough* How can you drink this stuff? It tastes like cough syrup."

"I don't know. If you drink enough of it, you stop noticing the flavor all together."

She sat up and pulled her knees to her chest, holding the cold bottle against her leg. There was silence for while. Finally she spoke up.

"What are you brooding over?"

"I am brooding over Valentine's Day. Which is, you know, tomorrow."

"Why does that require brooding?"

"Because I hate it. It sucks."

She took another slow sip of the beer and this time managed to choke it down with a grimace. "I know what you mean. Valentine's Day is the one day of the year that I get really excited for and always end up disappointed."

"How's that?"

"Well, every year, I always make a really spectacular Valentine for Phineas, hoping that he'll figure out I like him more than as just friends. And, of course, he never does. And, I'm always hoping in the back of my mind that he'll declare his love for me on that day, which also never happens."

"Which you no longer have to worry about because now he knows how you feel."

"But he still hasn't said that he loves me back."

"Yeah…"

"What about you? Why do you hate Valentine's Day?" Before he could answer, she answered her own question. "Oh, wait, I remember. That's the day your parents were killed. Right."

"Well, actually, that's just a contributing factor, actually. I've always hated Valentine's Day."

She expected him to continue, but he didn't. He just calmly chugged down the last third of his beer.

"So?"

"So?"

"So? Why have you always hated Valentine's?"

He didn't answer right away. He just stared at the clouds though his sunglasses. "It's because…I'm lonely. Look at me. I'm twenty-three years old and I have never had a single date in my life!"

"Uh, neither have I. Of course, I guess I don't really have an argument. I could have. Lots of guys asked me out over the years, but I always turned them down. I could never even imagine a date with someone other than Phineas. My heart lies with him and only him."

"Exactly. No argument. And it's not just because I'm lonely. It's because I'm lonely and seeing happy couples always annoys me, but it almost makes me psychotic on Valentine's Day."

Isabella took another sip. It was growing on her. "Don't worry, Steve. You'll find that someone special someday. Any girl would be lucky to have you."

"Thanks, Isabella, but no matter how many times you or anyone else tells me that, no girl has ever shown the slightest bit of interest in me."

There was more silence. Isabella was sorry she had said anything, so she decided to change the subject.

"What's your latest automotive project?"

"Well, since Baljeet now has my Trans Am, I decided I wanted to build myself another car, because we're kinda slow right now. I think it will pick back up around April or May. Anyway, the Plymouth Barracuda is awesome, but building a second one for myself wouldn't be very original. But, there's another Plymouth that's really cool: The 1970 Plymouth Superbird. I almost can't describe what it looks like, you'll just have to see it when it's done. I'm going to paint it like Richard Petty's race car, because he made it famous."

"Cool. Can't wait to see it."

There were several minutes of silence before Isabella spoke up again.

"Where do you think Phineas is?"

"No clue."

"Do you think he's avoiding me?"

"You said no one, not even Ferb, knows where he is, so I don't think he's specifically avoiding you."

"I don't know."

"Did anyone else try to call or text him?"

"Not that I know of."

"Well…" Steve pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket. "How about I call him and see if he answers?'

He dialed Phineas's contact.

_"Hello?"_

"Phineas?"

_"Yeah?"_

"It's Steve."

_"What's up?"_

"Where have you been? Isabella's been looking for you and trying to get in touch with you."

Isabella waved her hands, trying to get Steve to move the conversation in a different direction.

_"Oh, I was in 1910."_

"Huh?"

_"I took the time machine from the museum to 1910. I'm planning something for tomorrow. I can't tell you anything other than that, but, you know, cell signals can't travel through the space time continuum. But, you can tell Isabella not to worry and I'll see her tomorrow."_

"Okay. See ya, dude."

"I'll see you tomorrow, too."

"Bye." Steve hung up. "He's not avoiding you. Unless he went through the trouble of going all the way to 1910 to escape you."

"Yeah, I don't think so." Isabella shivered. "I think I'm going home." She stood, handed her beer bottle, still three-quarters full, to Steve, and walked to the ladder. "Thanks for the beer, I guess."

"Your welcome."

"Well…see you 'round." She started down the ladder.

"Isabella?"

She stopped. "Yes, Steve?"

"Thanks for making my day a little bit brighter. I think it's time I took a new outlook on Valentine's Day."

Isabella smiled. "Any time, Steve."

Steve watched her descend the ladder and walk to her temporary car, the '63 Galaxy Steve had lent to her while her 'Cuda's new transmission was built. The engine roared to life and Isabella drove smoothly away.

Steve chugged the entire contents of the bottle Isabella had handed him and then quickly started down the ladder before the effects of the alcohol impaired his coordination.

As he reached the bottom and entered his apartment, he wondered aloud, "I wonder what Phineas could possibly have planned for tomorrow?"

**For the final time in this story, Greetings Everyone!**

**This is the final chapter in episode #5.5 of the P&F Industries series. Therefore, as promised at the end of the last chapter, here is your sneak peak for the next story:**

**The title of episode #6 is ****_Something Wicked This Way Chuggs._**** Yeah, I know, the title is a little stupid. It will pick up on Valentine's Day, the day after ****_Why Valentine's Day Sucks_****. Anyway, for those of you who aren't big fans of all the cars, fear not, the next two stories contain absolutely no cars. They do, however contain the following:**

**1. Phineas's plan for Valentine's Day that somehow involves the year 1910.**

**2. Lots of snow and rain.**

**3. A really unique Perry/Doofenshmirtz sub-plot.**

**4. A 4-6-2 Pacific-Type Steam Locomotive.**

**5. A T-Rating for…well if I told you why, it would totally give away the plot.**

**6. A supernatural being that might give you nightmares.**

**It has been posted, so go ahead and read it!**

**Please, please, please, review me! If you don't, Dr. Doofenshmirtz lent me a few inators that could probably ruin your day. (Yeah, that's kind of an empty threat.)**

**Until next time,**

**_EDD17SP_**

**P.S. Only using pronouns until the characters call each other by their names: too confusing? What do you think?**


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